Always a Story
by CarminaCordis
Summary: Rick Castle adores Christmas. But as he has been known to say - there's always a story. And Kate Beckett, as the detective she is, wants to know why.


**Always a Story**

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**Author's Note: This is a Christmas present to a fellow tumblr-er; Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy it :)**

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The aroma of fresh coffee melted into the air. Castle sat down on the cracked leather sofa, checking his cellphone, as he heard a knock on the door. He looked up from the screen; smiled as he saw the tall, lean figure of Kate Beckett in the doorway. "Hey," she whispered, with that secret smile, full of tenderness and tranquility, that she reserved exclusively for him.

"Good morning, detective."

"Can I get you a coffee?"

"Do you even have to ask?" he replied jokingly, delighted by the tiny giggle it drew from his girlfriend. Like the lovesick puppy he was – but of course, only for her – he followed Kate to the coffee machine, and then took her hand. "Have I told you that you look gorgeous today?"

She rolled her eyes, but silent adoration still fluttered in her eyes. "I look like a mess, Rick."

"A beautiful mess."

"Well Castle, you're not so bad yourself," she returned softly. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you…I mean this is kind of personal but…"

"Spill it, Kate. I've dug around your past; feel free to exploit me in whatever way you like." He raised his eyebrow suggestively.

"I was just wondering, why do you like Christmas so much? I mean I understand all the Christmas spirit, winter wonderland, get to see family thing, but you go beyond that." Her forehead furrowed as she stared at the ground, then glanced up into his clouded blue eyes.

Rick sighed. "I guess I do go beyond the norm, huh." Silence wrapped him in her warm embrace, lulling him into her world.

"I'm sorry, I overstepped-"

"No, no, it's okay. I want you to know. I guess I'm just surprised you noticed it. Actually, on second thoughts, you notice everything. Duh," he rolled his eyes, laughing; something he'd taken from her.

Now, he knew he had something to give.

"Sit down, Kate. Have you got time?"

Kate perched herself on the edge of the sofa and leaned in towards him. "For you; always."

He smiled, and caressed her hand with his thumb, drawing tiny circles into her palm. "I used to hate Christmas."

"No!" Kate gasped in disbelief. Castle brushed her lips with one finger.

"Let me explain. When I was little – we're talking like seven years old here – I hated Christmas. My mother, as you well know, was working full time. The show must go on, even for Christmas. I resented the fact that Christmas for me was just another day, when for what seemed like everything other child on this earth, it was something truly magnificent. I was driven by jealousy.

'And so every Christmas, I would watch as the other kids greeted their families as they arrived for lunch; watched them proudly show off their newly-gained possessions from under the tree. Mother tried – I know she did. But she couldn't help that she was busy, and that there was no father to play baseball with in the yard – not that we had one, no father to cut the Christmas turkey, though more often than not we omitted that Christmas tradition too. I hated Christmas, because I loved it so much and I never thought it could be mine. Children, huh?"

Kate smiled, eyes misty.

"But when I was ten, things changed."

"What, Castle, did the ghosts Christmas visit you in your slumber?" Kate teased him, but Castle frowned.

"Naw, not ghosts. That'd be ridiculous."

"So?"

"I had these dreams."

"No," Beckett near-shouted in shock. "C'mon, Castle, seriously?"

"I'm not kidding," he said, sincerity lacing his tone. Kate nodded an apology.

"First, about six days before Christmas, I had this weird dream about the last Christmas. I had gone to bed early, but in my dream, I got back up and watched my mother from the doorway. I was paralyzed. She was frantically cooking, trying to make a nice chicken for lunch the next day with her friend's family. I saw how much effort she put into to wrapping each present; making each little thing look as perfect as possible. And I realized that hating Christmas was a pretty poor way to repay her.

"The next night, I had another strange dream. I was older – much older, and I was living in this really raggedy apartment in the city. It was Christmas, but it didn't feel like it. Hung-over, my head throbbed as the doorbell rang, and I opened it to reveal a tired woman. Dark circles crept under her eyes; her limp hair hung in tangled clumps; and holding onto her hand, trembling in the cold, was a little boy.

"'Happy friggin' Christmas,' she slurred as she staggered through the door.

"'Merry Christmas, Daddy,' the tiny child whispered, with drooping eyes and a pout. 'But I don't think this is Christmas. It's not right.'

"There he was, this little boy, my son, and he was indescribably miserable. A child that barely knew what Christmas was. And I never, ever wanted to see that again.

"And the on my Christmas once ten summers had passed,"

"You couldn't just say 'when I was ten?'" Kate interjected teasingly.

Rick crinkled his face in distaste. "I'm a writer," he shrugged. "Anyway, little miss nitpick, when I was ten," he continued with a prominent look at Kate, "I was determined to see the good in Christmas. I didn't want to be that woebegone boy from my dream. It might have only been a small celebration, but the weary happiness stretched across everyone's faces made Christmas day brilliant.

"I realized that I just couldn't hate Christmas. And considerably later, when Alexis was born, I decided I wanted Christmas to be a big deal. I wanted it to be her favourite day of the year; the very thought of which inspires childhood fantasies and the anticipation of which keeps her awake long in the night if Christmas Eve. I wanted to see the pure, undiluted joy prance about in her bright eyes and toothy grin as she walked down the stairs to find me on Christmas morning.

I never, ever, wanted her to be that child from my childhood nightmare."

Tiny droplets of emotion were cantering down Kate's face. She pushed her curly tendrils back, and ran her thumb down his face. "Thank you, Rick."

Surprise clouded over his features. "Why?"

"For sharing yourself with me. For being the perfect father to Alexis. Basically just for being yourself."

Rick smiled tenderly, and dragged Kate into the middle of the room by the hand.

"Castle, what-"

"Mistletoe!" he crowed triumphantly, and winked.

"I guess I now have to allow you to kiss me, huh?" she teased.

Rick stepped in towards her, so that she could feel his breath caressing her forehead. "That's the rules of mistletoe." He leant in even closer, so that his lips were barely a few inches from hers. "But I do hope you'll allow to do far more to you than just a kiss," he whispered against her lips.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Castle, but I think that could be arranged," she smiled.

And with that, he embraced her lips with his.


End file.
